Wooing the Gryffindor Princess
by Honey Almond Chocolate
Summary: Draco has always been the best at everything. But when it comes to wooing a certain Gryffindor girl, he'll need to work to win her over. Rated K plus for now, might go up.


_Hey guys! :) I wrote this a while ago. It isn't finished yet. I DO NOT ship Draco/Hermione- I will always and forever ship Romione, but I thought some of you might like it. Please review and tell me if you think I should continue._

He looks into her eyes, so filled with hurt and disappointment. "I thought you loved me." Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

I do! he wants to shout to the heavens, consequences be damned. I do and always will! He wants to hold her close, feel her warm body against his, kiss away the tears from her eyelashes. But he knows what he must do.

"Love you?" he scorns her, working hard to keep his ridiculing voice from cracking. "You're a Mudblood. I was just messing with you." A tear slips from the corner of her eye, and she steps away from him. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, then."

They stare into each other's eyes for what seems like an eternity. When she finally moves, he closes his eyes tight, expecting her to strike him. Instead, there's a quiet crack, and when he opens his eyes, she's gone. She always was excellent at Apparation, but then again, there wasn't much she wasn't excellent at.

From the very beginning, he has known there would be an end to their forbidden love, but he never thought it would be this sudden. He has to sit down as wave after wave of memories crash over him, right back to where it all began...

The castle loomed large in the darkness. Just imagine, in a few minutes, he, Draco Malfoy, would be sitting at the Slytherin table, with plates of steaming hot, delicious food in front of him. He refused to think of any other alternative. Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and especially Hufflepuff were strictly forbidden to a Malfoy. Draco shuddered to think what his father would say.

But as they reached the boat, Draco pushed all thoughts of such unpleasantries to the back of his head. Tonight was his night (and any other first years', he supposed) and he was determined to enjoy it.

Getting into a boat with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, a few followers he had managed to snag on the train ride here, he relaxed. After eleven years of waiting, he was finally- finally!- at the one place on earth he wanted to be. Sure, back home was pretty cool, too, but Hogwarts was where he could be himself. The boat glided across the water. Draco smiled.

Leaning back onto Pansy's lap, who didn't move away, he closed his eyes- then opened them again in annoyance. What was that racket? He sat up (Pansy looked slightly annoyed) and looked around.

"I should've known," he muttered to himself as his eyes landed on a boat ahead of them, carrying four people. If Draco squinted he could make out two heads of hair- one bushy and one ginger. It was that bothersome Mudblood girl and the Weasley boy.

"Ronald, I doubt very much there are flesh-eating eels in the lake," the Mudblood was saying patronizingly. "Shut up, Hermione. My brother told me so," Weasley retorted angrily.

Hermione laughed, not very nicely. "Would this be the same brother who taught you that so-called spell?"

"What would you know?" Weasley shot back. "You're just a Muggleborn."

"Oi, Weasley!" Draco yelled. "Will you shut up fighting with your girlfriend? Some of us are trying to enjoy the ride, you know!"

"Put a sock in it, Malfoy!" Weasley's furious reply drifted over the lake. Draco sniggered. Scum, the both of them. Weasley might have been pureblood, but his whole family were all blood traitors. And as for Hermione, well, she was a Mudblood. Enough said.

He didn't understand why anybody would choose garbage like that for friends. Draco flushed at the memory of Harry Potter- Harry Potter!- daring to insult him, a Malfoy, back on the train. The nerve!

Oh, well, he would come to just as soon as he saw how reverently adored Draco was. And then he'd be down on his knees, begging forgiveness.

But Draco wouldn't just accept Harry back. No, he wouldn't. If Harry wanted to rub elbows with the likes of Draco Malfoy, which was something Draco was sure everybody wanted, he would have to drop those two faster than a Cockroach Cluster.

Soon they were standing in the Great Hall while some batty old professor gave a speech to them she probably gave every year. Bored, Draco couldn't help glancing around the Great Hall. His eyes settled on Hermione and Weasley, standing quite far apart. Gratified, Draco noticed that the tops of Weasley's ears were still beetroot red. Whether that was a result of himself or Hermione, he didn't know, but he hoped it was from his earlier comment.

The old professor had finished her speech, and now... The moment Draco had been waiting for, when he would prove himself to his father and be selected to join the ranks of the greatest Hogwarts house there was. The first-years proceeded slowly through the Dining Hall, taking everything in with wide, awestruck eyes. Draco grit his teeth and growled. Hurry it up, people, haven't you seen magic before? Then again, he supposed, some of the Mudbloods hadn't. Draco snorted. Rank amateurs, the lot of them. They knew nothing of Hogwarts.

"Did you know it's enchanted? The ceiling, I mean. It's enchanted to look like the night sky," said a voice close to his ear.

He jumped and turned in time to see a mass of curly brown hair. Of course, it would be Hermione. Thankfully, though, she wasn't talking to him, but to a fat wimpy-looking boy clutching a toad in his hands. Draco didn't think he would be able to bear it if a Mudblood engaged in friendly conversation with him.

"No kidding, Granger, I thought it showed the Amazon rain forest," he drawled, and was pleased to see her scowl.

Now, finally, finally they were all clustered around the stool upon which the Sorting Hat stood. There was a polite pause, and then the Hat opened its mouth and began to sing.

His father had never told him of this part. Granted, he had mentioned the songs, and the basic details they all contained: that everybody will be sorted into a house- Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff.

Gryffindors tended to be stupid showoffs, Ravenclaws smart showoffs, and Hufflepuffs were all a bunch of sissies. Slytherin was the only house worthy of a Malfoy.

But never had his father mentioned the voice that sang the song. It was dry and cracked, but with a round, mellifluous tone to it. The hat sang slowly, taking its time, with a faint accent. Liverpool, Draco surmised.

And the melody was beautiful. The notes were long and lilting. It reminded Draco of mist and mountains and the moors of Scotland, of thistles and stained glass and a bit of sunshine peeking its way through a cloud. He almost didn't notice when it had finished. But he did notice, because he was eager for the Sorting, or rather, his sorting.

The first girl was sorted into Hufflepuff. Draco saw no surprise there; she had plump, rosy cheeks and two braids down her back, and ultimately looked like a Hufflepuff. And so the list went on. Draco found his eyes beginning to glaze over.

Hermione, the Mudblood girl, whose last name turned out to be Granger, was sorted into Gryffindor, where Draco felt she belonged. The obstinate, stubborn, annoying, bossy ones often ended up in Gryffindor.

Neville Longbottom, the fat toad boy, also ended up in Gryffindor. Draco was surprised at that. He would have thought Longbottom would be sorted into Hufflepuff.

And then, finally, it was Draco's turn. He took his time walking up to the Hat, so as to show everyone how cool, confident and unafraid he was. As the professor who had given a speech in the hall placed the Hat on Draco's head, the hat merely said, "Cunning, manipulative, and you care about your reputation... Obviously a Malfoy and therefore a SLYTHERIN!"

Draco felt a huge weight lift from his chest as he walked toward the Slytherin table, who were cheering very loudly. Obviously they were ecstatic to have a Malfoy with them. It was funny, Draco mused as he sat down between Crabbe and Goyle, that he hadn't fully realised how much he wanted to be in Slytherin until he was actually Sorted.

A few more people were Sorted, including Parkinson, another Slytherin, and then Professor McGonagall (according to a Slytherin prefect, that was her name) called out, "Potter, Harry."

Heads turned. A hush suddenly fell over the Dining Hall, broken by an excited hum of whispers. "Potter? Harry Potter?" "Wait- did she say Harry Potter?" "The Harry Potter?" "It's him, it is, I think I can see the scar!"

Potter looked so lost and afraid while walking up to the Sorting Hat that Draco felt an unexpected stab of pity. Imagine growing up with Muggles, completely ignorant of the wizarding world. No wonder Harry didn't understand the importance of blood status.

Draco immediately vowed that if- no, when- Potter was Sorted into Slytherin, he would forgive him for the nasty remark he had unwittingly said earlier on the train. After all, it wasn't Potter's fault he was ignorant as a baby.

A storm of cheering broke through Draco's thoughts, and he looked up, momentarily distracted. Potter had already been Sorted, then. Draco sat up straighter, ready to welcome Potter to Slytherin. Then he realised the cheering wasn't coming from his table. It was coming from... Gryffindor? It couldn't be- but it was. Some Gryffindors were even standing on their chairs while they whistled and cheered and clapped. A pair of redheaded twins whom Draco guessed to be Weasleys as well, were shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" and appeared to be performing some sort of victory dance.

Draco felt a twinge of annoyance. Why did everybody insist upon treating Potter like some sort of saviour? All he had done was lie in his crib and cry, which all babies did. After all, nobody knew why the Dark Lord had been vanquished that autumn night. It mightn't have been because of Potter. He wasn't even a pureblood! He was the son of a blood traitor and a Mudblood. Why hadn't Draco received a reception like that?

'Try to befriend Potter,' his father had told him. 'Some say he shall be powerful, maybe even more so than the Dark Lord. It would be good to have connections with him, Draco.'

Well, his father could be disappointed. There was no way in hell Draco would ever be friends with Potter.

_Draco wants to know what happens next. But do you? Click that little review button down there and tell us. ;)_


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